I went viral.
It’s been four weeks now, and honestly, I still haven’t wrapped my head around it.
I never thought I’d be one to go viral. Let’s be real — the only people usually interested in North Carolina culture are… well, North Carolinians. If I ever made a splash online, I figured it’d be for one of my barbecue takes.
But life has a funny way of surprising you.
Me — the same girl who’s spent four years reminding folks not to attack each other over politics in the comment section — went viral for venting about how the world treats Christian conservatives.
You see, I was invited to sit on media row at the Salt & Light Conference. (If you want the full story on the conference itself, keep an eye out for the next LPNC newsletter — I wrote an editorial about my experience.) And though politics isn’t exactly my forte, I accepted that invite.
I’ve got a podcast, after all. It was a smart move — no regrets. More than that, I genuinely enjoyed it. If I get the chance to go back next year, I absolutely will.
While I was there, I bought a T-shirt — a Charlie Kirk “Freedom” shirt. I’m still not entirely sure what made me grab it. I don’t put political signs in my yard. I don’t wear political slogans on my clothes. But something about watching a man get shot — in front of millions, for peacefully debating — just didn’t sit right with me.
I’m a Christian. I’m a Constitutional conservative. And I’m in the public eye.
I reckon, on some level, I identified with Charlie.
The next day, I got up, got dressed, and threw on that shirt without a second thought. I mean, it’s just a shirt.
We loaded up the car and headed out to explore Spruce Pine and Little Switzerland. We stopped at an apple orchard, had a great time, and I noticed a few people staring. I brushed it off — until we got back to the car, and the woman loading up her van beside us looked at me like she wanted to tear my face off.
That’s when it hit me.
People weren’t staring at me. They were staring at my shirt.
I’d seen stories online, but somehow that all felt far away. Stuff like that didn’t happen here — not in North Carolina.
I figured that was the worst of it. I was wrong.
Our next stop was for lunch. We grabbed a table on the patio, ordered our food, and this man came by with the sweetest dog you’ve ever seen. His friends went upstairs, and he stopped for a bit so we could pet the pup. We chatted for a minute — just neighborly talk — and that was that. Or so I thought.
A few minutes later, I got up to grab some Goody Powders from the general store next door (migraine incoming, of course). They were out, so I settled for Aleve and came back to the restaurant.
That’s when the same guy called over, “Is that a Charleston T-shirt?”
I should’ve said yes.
Instead, I said, “No sir, it’s a Charlie Kirk shirt,” and sat back down.
He stared at me. “He didn’t like people like me.”
I looked up. “Excuse me?”
“He didn’t like same-sex attracted people. And I’m gay.”
“I don’t think Charlie Kirk disliked—”
He cut me off. “He didn’t like people like me.”
I tried again. “Charlie actually—”
Cut off again. And again.
Finally, I had enough. “Well,” I said, “you have a nice day.”
Our food came. We ate in awkward silence.
The man behind us inhaled his meal, paid, and crossed the street to the post office. Then he sat there — staring at us from across the road — waiting for his friends.
I guess he didn’t want to be near folks who saw the world differently.
And the whole time, I couldn’t stop thinking — does he treat everyone that way? Does he assume hate where there isn’t any? Does he realize one of my best friends is a lesbian? That I’ve got more than one gay cousin — they are kind-hearted, and faithful people who’d have sat right there beside me?
The more I thought about it, the angrier I got.
Because this — this right here — is what’s wrong with the world. We’ve stopped seeing people as people. We see enemies, labels, and stereotypes instead.
We paid for lunch, tipped well, and got back on the Blue Ridge Parkway.
No one to gawk. No one to judge. No one to assume the worst. Just quiet.
And in that quiet, I had time to think. To breathe. And to decide that I needed to get it off my chest.
So I pulled over at a scenic overlook, snapped a photo, and let my thoughts spill onto X:
I could’ve spent the rest of the day exploring WNC, but I didn’t. I just wanted to go home — to Brandon, to Axl, to a little peace.
So I hit post, put the phone face-down, and drove.
It started immediately. PING! PING! PING! It pinged so much I had to silence it. And every time it was safe to check, there were thousands more. As the miles wore on, it turned into millions.
I didn’t know how to feel — excited and scared all at once. I was trapped on the interstate wearing a Charlie Kirk shirt… with a recognizable face. So I ditched the interstate for the backroads and got real selective about where we stopped for bathroom breaks.
About three minutes from home, Brandon called: “I think you’ve been retweeted by Elon Musk.”
Brandon doesn’t even have social media.
I checked. There it was — my face on Elon Musk’s account.
I almost wrecked the car, y’all.
In that moment, everything changed. The post kept spreading — 21.3 million views in all.
Fame had found me, and not in a way I was looking for.
DMs started rolling in from bloggers and influencers. Most of them agreed with me, even praised me. One after another confided: I can’t speak up. I’ll lose my brand deals. I’ll lose my sponsors. I heard it over and over again.
And that’s when I knew — there was no going back.
Yes, my focus will always be North Carolina culture. But no, I’m not going to let brands or sponsors silence me. That may mean fewer opportunities, but it also means more honesty.
Protecting my culture — my faith, my roots, my values — can’t be done quietly. Not anymore.
The blog will stay the same. But the podcast? Social media? The shackles are gone.
And the FREEDOM feels good.
Cassie – you just be you. The Queen of the Old North State!